


Sherlock To The Rescue

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BAMF Sherlock Holmes, Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble, Established Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Kidnapping, M/M, Mycroft is a Bit Not Good, Sibling Incest, holmescest, mentions of other canon characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-02
Updated: 2020-01-02
Packaged: 2021-02-27 09:29:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22084927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: Mycroft finds himself in a warehouse with some unpleasant company. They made a mistake in more than one way.
Relationships: Mycroft Holmes/Sherlock Holmes
Comments: 11
Kudos: 85





	Sherlock To The Rescue

“Finally!” Mycroft spat out the gag and shook his head to get rid of the annoying curl that had been glued to his forehead. Mycroft Holmes was not used to being knocked out, tied up, get some nasty piece of fabric into his mouth and then put into a sack that smelled like rotten potatoes! And this horrible place they had brought him to – a warehouse? They had no style! Okay, he had used warehouses for kidnapped people, too, but they had not been this dirty...

A scrawny man with a four-day-beard threw his hands into the air. “Who the fuck is this?!” His dirty-blond hair looked as if he had cut it himself. In the darkness.

“What do you mean, who is this? This is Sherlock Holmes!” The second man was tall, his eyes were unhealthily wet and his clothes looked as if he had taken them from a bin.

“Yes, boss, we caught him in Baker Street.” The third and last one was short but bulky, his eyes mean and his lips almost non-existent.

All three of them looked like caricatures of low-key criminals. And they were not the brightest kind.

“I showed you a picture!” the first one, boss, screamed. “He doesn’t even look remotely like Sherlock Holmes!”

“He was sitting in a chair in the middle of the room and he was holding a violin. Who else should he be?!” Watery-Eyes glowered at his boss. If any of his minions ever looked at him like this, Mycroft thought, they would be in big trouble.

“Yes, you said he’s tall and wears nice suits,” Short-Guy threw in and lit a cigarette.

“I showed you a picture!” screeched Number One again. “He has thick black curls! Does this man look like he has thick black curls?!”

Ah, the curls. Sherlock hated them but Mycroft loved their silky texture when he carded his hand through them or felt them against his sack when Sherlock rimmed him. He envied him for them, yes, but he loved them too much to seriously complain.

“All the planning for nothing! I’ll never get revenge for Blacky’s death,” whined the boss, and now Mycroft knew who they are.

Sherlock had told him all about the case when they had been cuddled up in post-coital bliss a few days ago. The head of a criminal organisation – William ‘Blacky’ Huntington had killed his unfaithful girlfriend. He had done it very cleverly but of course Sherlock had convicted him when Lestrade had asked him for help. And then he had been arrested and hung himself in the prison, or perhaps someone else had taken care of him, and the man who obviously was Dudley Welles, his right hand and partner, had searched revenge – to get the wrong Holmes brother.

Mycroft was a bit piqued that he had made it so easy for them. He loved Sherlock's violin play and he had decided he would learn it, too, to please his brother with a piece especially written for him. So he had gone to Baker Street when he had known Sherlock to be in St. Bart’s and had borrowed the Stradivarius. Sitting in Sherlock's chair, he had been in other spheres, enjoying his own play and memorising all the notes he was playing, following his deep feelings – when he had been hit on the head from behind. He had woken up in a trunk just ten minutes ago, gagged and unable to use his hands, and now he was facing three criminals without the hint of a conscience. At least they had removed the gag…

“I am not Sherlock Holmes. Let me go and we’ll forget about this,” he said calmly. He was still not able to move his hands that were tied behind his back. He was unarmed anyway. And he didn’t like big, gory messes. It was better for everybody if they just let him go.

Of course they were too stupid to accept his generous offer. “Ha. As if. Search him. Find out who he is.”

Mycroft glowered at the man probably named Welles, but he just gave him a haughty grin.

A moment later they had his wallet. “ _Mycroft_ Holmes. What kind of a name is this?”

Welles waved the bearded man’s stupid question away. “Doesn’t matter. It’s even better! He must be related to Holmes then. We’ll kill him and send his head to the super smart detective.” He chuckled and Mycroft sighed.

“He will come to free me, you know that. Better let me go at once if you want to have a chance to get out of here alive.”

“Ha, nice try. We are three, we are armed...”

“…and you are idiots,” Mycroft dryly finished his sentence when the door burst open and Sherlock and John Watson stormed inside, followed by Lestrade and his scary sergeant Sally Donovan. Mycroft hurled himself onto the dirty floor when the bullets started flying, and a moment later blood was splattering all around him and he suddenly found himself eye to eye with a dead man – it was all most unpleasant.

It was over within less than a minute but his ears were ringing when Sherlock helped him onto his feet and his hands were freed from the rope that had tied them together.

“Are you all right?” Sherlock asked him, his eyes wide with excitement and worry.

“Now I am,” Mycroft purred. He could hear John talking to Lestrade and Donovan taking care of the only survivor of the criminal trio.

Sherlock gave him a brief but affectionate smile. “Good. They thought you were me?”

“Yes. How could they? We don’t look alike at all...”

“I think we do, brother.” Sherlock stressed the last word with amusement. His cheeks were flushed most dashingly and Mycroft could have eaten him up. Later.

“And then they wanted to kill me to teach you a lesson.”

Sherlock snorted. “Idiots.”

“Yes.” Mycroft turned when Lestrade approached them, and told him the whole story. He said his head was fine and he would come to the Yard to testify the next morning. He thanked John Watson and the police officers and then he called for his car. Sherlock had given him the address. Of course the warehouse had belonged to Blacky Huntington. Amateurs!

“I’ll make sure he gets in there without any further problems,” Sherlock told his friend and the coppers, and soon they were standing in front of the warehouse and watched them driving off with the miscreant. Only one constable was still in the building, waiting for the forensic team to arrive.

They were alone and the car had just disappeared out of sight when Sherlock was already clinging to his neck. “I was worried, brother mine,” he rumbled.

“I know. I’m sorry. But I was not scared. I knew you’d come and save me.”

“I’ll always come and save you,” promised Sherlock. “Like you saved me so many times.”

Not from criminals but from himself – drugs, reckless behaviour, bad decisions. All their lives they had been saving one another in so many ways. “Thank you,” Mycroft smirked. Then he looked down on himself and frowned. “My suit is ruined.”

“Nothing a dry cleaning can’t erase,” Sherlock soothed him. “I will come over later and kiss all your scratches better.”

“That would be lovely. I think I have one on my cock.”

Sherlock's eyes were sparkling. “I will pay it extra attention then.” He looked around and when he was content they were still all alone, he kissed Mycroft on the lips. Mycroft sneaked his arms around his slim waist and the kiss quickly got messy. They broke apart when they heard a car coming around the corner.

“See you later, pretty little brother.”

Sherlock nodded and smiled, and he watched Mycroft climbing into the car after opening the door for him and greeting his trusted driver.

Mycroft leaned against the back seat and closed his eyes. What a cute little adventure. Sod the suit. It was too nice to be saved by Sherlock. And later he would thank him thoroughly. It was a treat to love the world’s only consulting detective, the awesome, amazing Sherlock Holmes.

  
  



End file.
